


Sleep is Important

by BubbleGumLizard



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Comforting John, First Kiss, I'm Bad At Tagging, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, PTSD Sherlock, Sleep Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 04:56:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4422227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BubbleGumLizard/pseuds/BubbleGumLizard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his divorce, John moves back home to 221b Baker Street.  Things are almost back to normal when John realizes that Sherlock is sleeping even less than normal.  Worried about his friend, John sets about resolving the problem and gets more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleep is Important

**Author's Note:**

> My first Johnlock fic! Enjoy, everybody!

John didn’t move back into 221b Baker Street until his divorce was finalized. When it was all settled, he moved back into his old bedroom and his old life as if nothing had happened. It felt like coming home after a holiday that had lasted far too long: he hadn’t realized how much he had missed the flat and his mad roommate. The first night there, he slept comfortably for the first time in years.

He woke up the first morning and went to the kitchen for tea. Sherlock was there, working on an experiment at the table. “Tea?” John offered.

Sherlock waved his hand absently, staring at his microscope with glassy eyes. “Have you slept?” John stopped what he was doing to watch Sherlock. “Obviously you haven’t in the past day, but when was the last time you slept?”

Sherlock shrugged. “I don’t require sleep,” he said quietly, shaking his head and blinking.

“Not as much as the average person, perhaps, but you still need to sleep occasionally. Everyone needs some sleep.”

“I’m not ‘everyone.’ I’m very busy.” Sherlock wrote something down and then looked through his microscope, setting his shoulders in his “not listening to John” posture.

John sighed, made tea for both of them, and set Sherlock’s cup next to his hand. “I’m here if you need anything,” he said quietly, before sitting down with his computer.

Several hours later, Sherlock wandered into the living room and flopped down on the couch. Watching Sherlock be his usual self, John smiled. He really had missed his friend, had missed these easy days spent lounging around the flat. John returned his attention to his computer, his concentration being interrupted by Sherlock suddenly jumping up from the couch, looking confused.

“Are you alright?” John asked.

Sherlock nodded, the wild look in his eyes gone, replaced by a look of exhaustion. “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” he snapped, returning to the kitchen.

John followed him, not giving up so easily. “When was the last time you actually slept?” he demanded. When Sherlock ignored him and sat down at his microscope, John grabbed his shoulder and pulled him around so he was looking at John.

Sherlock drew himself up as if he were going to argue with John to distract him, but then slumped over after a moment. “Six days.”

“Sherlock, not even you can go that long without sleep. Without sleep, you’re going to die.”

“I don’t need sleep. I’ve never needed sleep.”

John pulled Sherlock up. “Come on, you’re going to bed.” He took Sherlock by the arm and led him to his bedroom.

Sherlock swayed on his feet, then crumpled. Luckily, John was able to catch him. He set Sherlock on the bed, starting to cover him with a blanket before realizing that Sherlock was wearing very inappropriate clothing for sleeping. John sighed and began to unbutton Sherlock’s shirt.

“What’re you doing?” Sherlock mumbled, pushing his hand away.

“You need to be more comfortable. Let me do this,” he said, pushing the shirt off of Sherlock’s shoulders and then setting to work getting his trousers off.

John hesitated slightly before covering Sherlock with the blanket, taking in the sight of Sherlock in just his pants. He licked his lips, wondering what it would be like to run his mouth over that perfect body. After looking for a moment, John realized that it was no longer as perfect as he remembered: small scars were scattered over Sherlock’s torso, punctuated by larger scars. John knew that Sherlock had gone through a lot to destroy Moriarty’s network, but he never realized that Sherlock had been so injured during those lost years.

Feeling guilty for letting his eyes linger, John covered Sherlock, tucked the blanket securely around him, and returned to the living room. He made dinner, watched television, and wrote a little on his computer before deciding to go to bed. He lay in bed, staring at his ceiling. He hadn’t known that Sherlock had been hurt so badly while he had been “dead.” John reflected for a moment on the thought that Sherlock had gone through all of that to save John, without John even knowing it. Sherlock had never mentioned how hard it had evidently been, for once staying quiet about something. John wondered what it meant that Sherlock didn’t say anything and in fact seemed like he didn’t want John to know. Normally Sherlock lounged around the flat in as little clothing as possible, but John realized that he hadn’t seen Sherlock half-naked since his return.

John’s mind turned to Sherlock being half-naked. He hadn’t thought about Sherlock in that way in months. When Sherlock had been dead, he excused his random thoughts and fantasies as acceptable because the man was gone. Once Sherlock reappeared, John had tried to suppress all thoughts of Sherlock that had caused a physical reaction in John, thinking that it was unfair to Mary for him to be fantasizing about someone else. During the divorce and when he was moving back into Baker Street, John had thought it would be easier to ignore his attraction to Sherlock. Now, however, he knew how ridiculous it would be for him to deny it to himself. He had always been attracted to Sherlock, even if Sherlock had made it clear that he could never be interested in John.

Idle fantasies couldn’t hurt anything now, though, so John let his mind wander over Sherlock’s body, now altered in John’s mind to reflect the changes John had seen. John thought about studying the scars he had seen, kissing them, being gentle to the flesh that had seen such cruelty. He could run his tongue over the marked skin, making Sherlock squirm. John would enjoy that, tickling Sherlock all over with his tongue.

John’s fantasy was interrupted by what sounded like a moan. He sat up, listening for more sounds. The sound of sobbing made him jump out of bed and rush to Sherlock’s room. He paused outside the door, listening to the unmistakable sound of crying coming from the other side of it. He didn’t want to bother Sherlock during something that was clearly very emotional, so he wasn’t sure if he should go into the bedroom or if he should return to his own bed and try to ignore what he heard.

When Sherlock screamed, John ignored his misgivings and threw the door open. He stared at the bed, where Sherlock was writhing around, apparently still asleep. He remained where he was by the door, knowing that if he was too close when he woke Sherlock up, he could be injured: John had hit enough people while being woken up from his own post-traumatic stress dreams to know that he didn’t want to give Sherlock the guilt of having hit his friend.

“Sherlock,” he called in an urgent voice. “Sherlock, wake up.”

Sherlock settled slightly at the sound of John’s voice, but he didn’t seem to wake up. After a moment, he started whining again.

“Sherlock! Wake up!” John commanded in his best soldier voice. He didn’t want to wake Mrs. Hudson, but he knew that he needed to get Sherlock awake.

Sherlock’s eyes popped open and he sat up, breathing hard. John was at his side in an instant with an arm around his shoulders, shushing him and stroking his arm comfortingly. As awareness came back to Sherlock, he looked embarrassed.

“I apologize if I woke you,” Sherlock murmured. “I will endeavor to avoid such a situation in the future.”

“Sherlock, you can’t avoid sleeping because you have nightmares,” John said quietly.

Sherlock rested his head on John’s shoulder and John realized that they were sitting in a very intimate position. It seemed to comfort Sherlock, whose breath was coming normally now, so John didn’t mention it.

“Avoiding sleep works. I’m close to discovering a chemical that will allow me to sleep without dreams.”

“Drugging yourself is worse than not sleeping,” John said disapprovingly. “How long has this been happening?”

“Since I came back,” Sherlock admitted.

John closed his eyes, feeling guilty that he had been so caught up in his relationship with Mary that he hadn’t been there when Sherlock needed him. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I’m sorry I let you suffer,” he said quietly.

“It isn’t your fault, John.” Sherlock seemed to be falling asleep again.

“You need more rest. Would you—would you like me to stay? Having someone else in the room usually helps me with my nightmares. It might help you.”

Sherlock nodded sleepily. He looked up at John and then leaned forward, giving John a short, chaste kiss on the lips. “Thank you, John,” he said, lying down again and pulling the blanket over him. He made room for John on the bed and rolled over so his back was to John.

John stared at Sherlock’s back for a moment, unsure of how to respond to the kiss and unusual show of gratitude, and then lay down next to him, keeping as much space between their two bodies as the bed would allow, and fell quickly asleep.

***

When John woke up, sunlight was streaming through the window and he was nose to nose with Sherlock, who had apparently rolled over and cuddled up to John while sleeping. John didn’t move or breathe, he just studied Sherlock’s face, more peaceful than he had ever seen it.

After a few minutes, Sherlock started to stir and opened his eyes. When he saw John, there was a flash of something in his eyes, some emotion that John didn’t recognize, and then Sherlock’s face was back to normal.

“Good morning, John,” Sherlock said evenly.

John cleared his throat. “Good morning. Sleep well?”

“After you joined me, yes. Thank you.”

Surprised by receiving another “thank you,” John smiled unconsciously. Sherlock’s eyes narrowed at the smile, as if John were an experiment that Sherlock was studying. John was suddenly very self-conscious and moved to sit up before he realized that he was still on the edge of the bed. He fell off of the bed and onto the floor in an impressive show of ungainliness.

John put his hand over his face and sighed, wishing the floor would open up and swallow him so he could avoid the embarrassment of facing Sherlock again. He pushed the thought that it had been years since he was worried about Sherlock thinking he was graceless as far away as he could, not wanting to think about why he was now nervous around Sherlock.

A noise from on the bed startled John: Sherlock was giggling. John hadn’t heard Sherlock giggle in quite some time and the sound gave him hope that things were finally getting back to normal. John sat up to look at Sherlock, who was face down on the bed, giggling like a child.

“That wasn’t funny,” John said, trying to remain annoyed, but failing as he listened to Sherlock’s infectious laughter. He ended up laughing himself, turning and sitting with his back to the bed.

After a while, John stood and turned to face Sherlock. “Tea?” he asked.

“Of course,” Sherlock said, sitting up. He started to stand, but then looked down at his torso and froze. He slowly looked back up at John, looking anxious. “I…there were some things that happened.”

John made sure to look at Sherlock’s face, not the scars. “If you want to talk about it, I’m here. If not, I won’t force you.”

“I wouldn’t like to. It’s still…”

“One day, you may want to talk. When that happens, I will be here. Now, let’s get some breakfast.” He turned and left the room, smiling at the relieved look on Sherlock’s face.

***

They didn’t discuss Sherlock’s nightmare or John sleeping in Sherlock’s bed until the next night. Sherlock had been full of frenetic energy, annoying John with his experiments and a search for a case interesting enough. John was reading in his chair, enjoying some peace and quiet while Sherlock was lying on the couch, thinking.

Without warning, Sherlock stood and crossed the room to stand in front of John. “John, I’m tired.”

“Then go to sleep, Sherlock,” John said, not looking up from his book. He knew what Sherlock was going to say next and he wasn’t sure how he was going to respond to it.

“I need you. I cannot sleep without you.”

“I’m not a security blanket, Sherlock. You need to be able to sleep on your own.” John wanted nothing more than to jump up, drag Sherlock into the bedroom and cuddle him until morning, but he knew that sleeping in a bed with Sherlock was playing with fire. He had spent the past two days analyzing the kiss Sherlock gave him and had concluded that Sherlock was half asleep and didn’t know what he was doing. That wasn’t an ideal answer to the question, but it was a simple one. John was afraid that if he spent much more time around Sherlock when he was especially tired, something else might happen, something more, and John didn’t want to take advantage of his friend.

“I’m afraid to sleep,” Sherlock said in a voice so small that John almost thought his mind was playing tricks on him.

John looked up at Sherlock, astonished. “You’re what?”

“When I sleep, the nightmares come. Every time. Well, every time except for when you were there. You stop the nightmares.”

“Sleeping with me forever isn’t an option, Sherlock. What if I want to date someone? What if you want to date someone?”

“Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Want to date someone?”

If John hadn’t known Sherlock so well, he would have sworn that Sherlock looked nervous as he asked the question, afraid the answer would hurt him.

“Not right now, but in the future.”

“There’s no one you want to date?”

John paused to think a moment before answering. He didn’t want to lie, but he couldn’t tell the truth. “No one that is currently available or interested.”

Sherlock turned and flopped onto the couch, his face impassive.

“You’re not going to sleep?” John asked with a frown.

“It isn’t worth it. The nightmares are too vivid. I tried to delete what happened, but I couldn’t.”

John suddenly realized how terrifying this must be for Sherlock. John had been there, afraid to sleep because of nightmares that reminded him of the worst moments of his life. Sherlock was experiencing that, but was helpless for the first time when it came to his brain. Normally Sherlock could ignore things that he didn’t find relevant, but this time he was stuck reliving whatever horrors he had experienced with none of his usual control over the situation. He was scared and helpless and being refused help by the one person he trusted the most.

Putting his book down, John stood. “Come on. Bed. You need to sleep. If you need me there, I’ll be there.”

Sherlock jumped up and bounded into the bedroom. He started to get undressed, but seemed suddenly self-conscious. “Can you look away?” he asked John, who had followed him into the bedroom.

“I’ve seen you shirtless before,” John said, but turned.

“It’s different now. I wasn’t so broken then,” Sherlock spat the words out as if disgusted with himself.

“You aren’t broken now, Sherlock.” John thought for a moment and then pulled his jumper and shirt off, letting them fall to the floor. He felt Sherlock’s eyes on his back, zeroed in on the scar.

“Am I broken for this? Should I hide it?”

“You do hide it. You’re always wearing a shirt.”

John turned to face Sherlock again. “I’m not hiding my scar, I just don’t walk around the flat in the nude like you.” He stepped closer, took Sherlock’s hand, and put it on the scar on the front of his shoulder. He nearly shivered as Sherlock probed lightly with his fingertips, but he restrained himself. He didn’t want Sherlock to see the physical reaction he had to Sherlock’s touch, afraid that he would be able to tell that John had less than pure feelings toward Sherlock.

After thoroughly studying the scar, Sherlock leaned forward and planted a kiss on it. John gasped and Sherlock looked up at him. “It brought you to me,” he said quietly.

“Sherlock, I think you should go to sleep,” John said quietly.

“Not good?” Sherlock asked, frowning.

“You doing things like that when you’re very tired is not good. If you want to do things like that, you should do them when you are well rested and thinking clearly.”

Sherlock kept frowning, but nodded and climbed into bed. He moved all the way back to the wall to give John room. John lay down on the edge of the bed again, leaving room between the two of them.

***

John woke up with his head resting on Sherlock’s arm, his face buried in Sherlock’s chest. He closed his eyes again and breathed in Sherlock’s smell, feeling as happy as he felt when chasing a criminal with Sherlock. When he eventually opened his eyes again, he looked up to see Sherlock looking down at him.

“How long have you been awake?” John asked, trying to sound casual. He knew that he should move, but he couldn’t bear to pull himself away from Sherlock’s warm, comfortable body.

“An hour or so,” Sherlock said, not moving either.

“So you’ve just been watching me sleep?”

“You looked very peaceful.”

John hesitated and then reached up and stroked Sherlock’s face with his hand. Sherlock caught the hand in his own and kissed John’s palm. John’s breath caught in his throat as Sherlock leaned down and kissed John softly on the lips. “I’m well rested and thinking clearly,” Sherlock murmured. “Are you?”

John rolled over and straddled Sherlock, leaning down and kissing him. He had dreamed of this kiss for years, playing how it would go over and over in his head. Now that it was happening, John couldn’t get enough. He poured all of the sexual frustration and angst he had felt living with Sherlock into the kiss and when he finally pulled away, both of them were panting and glistening with sweat.

“I suppose that answers my question,” Sherlock said with a small smile. “I’m glad you feel the same way that I do.”

“If you actually feel the same way as I do, we’re in trouble,” John said in a low voice.

“Oh? Why is that?”

“Because we’re never going to leave this bedroom again.”

Sherlock laughed and flipped John over onto his back, straddling him instead and leaning down for a long kiss. “Well, as long as we take appropriate sleeping breaks. Adequate sleep is very important, you know.”


End file.
